


Can I Handle the Seasons of My Life

by gutsforgarters



Series: Bethyl Holidays Fest 2019 [4]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, BHF2019, F/M, Missing Scene, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 20:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsforgarters/pseuds/gutsforgarters
Summary: Glenn and Maggie are getting married, and not everyone who should be there is. It won't be the same without them, but the people they've left behind can still make something good out of what they've got.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Series: Bethyl Holidays Fest 2019 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529537
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58
Collections: Bethyl Holidays Fest





	Can I Handle the Seasons of My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ultimate Bethyl Fic List's Bethyl Holidays Thanksgiving Fest, to fill the prompt "family." Title from "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac.

Maggie’s foot is tapping about a mile a minute, but fuck if Daryl knows why she’s feeling this goddamn antsy. She’s getting married, sure, but it ain’t like they’ve gotta make it to any sort of venue on time, and they don’t got any caterers or DJs or photographers waiting on their sad little wedding party. So Beth’s five minutes late, so what? Ain’t the end of the world.

_Nah,_ he thinks as he watches the fences for any sign of escalating trouble. _It really ain’t_.

Carol shoots him a quietly amused look—and, fuck, but it’s good to see her smile like that; she deserves some levity, after everything she’s lost—then turns to Maggie and says, “Something the matter, honey?”

Maggie’s foot stops its tapping for all of five seconds, only to start up again at a speed that’d put Thumper to shame. “Beth’s late,” is all she says, but there’s nine kinds of condemnation weighing that one short sentence down, like she thinks Beth’s doing this on purpose or some shit.

Daryl doubts Maggie really means to imply as much, figures it’s just nerves and impatience making her sound that way, but it still aggravates him something fierce to hear her take that accusatory tone when, as far as he knows, Beth’s never done anything to deliberately hurt someone else in her entire goddamn life. Girl’s got about as much malice in her body as a cartoon faun.

“Judith’s prob’ly kickin’ up a fuss or somethin’,” he says, plucking his stubby Marlboro out of his mouth and rolling it around between his fingers. “An’ it ain’t like we’re on a schedule.”

Maggie’s answering glare could flay a man alive, but Daryl’s been stared down by bigger and meaner folks than her without flinching, and he doesn’t flinch now, either. But Glenn’s eyeing the fence like he’s thinking about climbing over it to the other side and taking his chances with the walkers, and Michonne’s looking more and more as if she’d like to bludgeon Maggie upside the head with the hilt of her katana, so Daryl breaks the staring contest in progress in favor of averting bloodshed.

And, Christ, since when has he been one to _de_escalate a situation?

“I’ll go get her,” Daryl mumbles, dropping his cigarette onto the concrete and putting it out beneath the heel of his boot. If nothing else, it oughta do him some good to get away from Maggie’s tapping foot for a little while. 

“Thanks, son,” Hershel says, reaching over to clap Daryl lightly on the shoulder, beard twitching around a knowing smile, and Daryl grunts and shrugs and shoulders his crossbow as he turns away from the rest of his family to go hunting for its two wayward members.

The chorus of a Fleetwood Mac song’s echoing off the walls and ceiling of the empty cell block when Daryl stalks inside, and he follows the sound of it up the rickety metal stairs and onto the narrow catwalk, where he finds Beth wandering around with Lil’ Asskicker all bundled up in her arms, bouncing her gently with every step. Her mouth catches around her song when she spots him, and the note she was holding wavers in her throat for a second before dying a quiet death.

Her hair’s all frazzled, and there’s a carrot-colored stain dripping down her sleeveless blouse—looks like Daryl was right when he said that Judith was probably giving her trouble—but the smile she offers him’s as bright as it’s ever been, if a little exhausted around the edges.

Daryl never knows what to do with his damn self when she smiles at him like that; can’t remember anyone else ever looking so pleased to see him in his entire sorry life, except for maybe Carol. “Uh. Hey. Lil’ Asskicker givin’ you trouble?”

“No more trouble than usual,” Beth says equably. “And she’s just about settled, anyway. Hey, um. Could you hold her while I get changed? She spat up all over my shirt.”

Yeah, Daryl can see that. “Uh-huh, sure,” he says, holding his arms out for the baby and gathering her warm weight close to his chest when Beth hands her over. She folds right into him, loose and easy, and Beth smiles again, the soft, dreamy look she gets when she thinks something’s cute. She always looks at him like that whenever he’s pulling baby duty, and it never fails to make his ears burn.

“Aw, jeez, just look at you two. You’re her favorite person, Daryl, I swear.”

The flush in his ears spreads to his face, and he ducks his head. Scoffs. “Nah, girl. Tha’s you.”

Beth rolls her eyes good naturedly, but she doesn’t waste no more time arguing with him, at least; just turns down the catwalk and heads into her cell to change, Daryl trailing in her wake with the baby nestled in his arms. Beth swishes her privacy curtain shut and chatters at him through the barrier, every bit as antsy as her big sister, if a helluva lot less pissy.

“Gosh, I’m so late, aren’t I? Maggie’s gotta be spittin’ fire.”

“Lil’ bit,” Daryl allows, because he doesn’t want Beth to feel bad, but he doesn’t wanna lie to her, either. “Got no clue what’s crawled up her ass an’ died, though. Ain’t like we gotta worry ’bout catering or whatever.”

“Well, it’s still her wedding day.” There’s the thwump of Beth’s stained clothing hitting the cell floor, and then the whisper of fabric as she wriggles into a new shirt. “You only get married for the first time once. And Glenn’s it for her, y’know? I don’t blame her for wanting everythin’ to be as perfect as it can be under the circumstances.”

Daryl hums noncommittally, because, yeah—some wedding day it’s turning out to be. The bride’s wearing scuffed boots and faded jeans instead of a gown or even a cotton sundress just in case an emergency crops up in the middle of the proceedings, and the wedding party’s armed to the teeth. They ain’t exactly fit to make the cover of _Bridal Guide_.

The privacy curtain whooshes to one side, and Beth bounces on outta her cell, ponytail swaying, arms held out to show off her clean blue top. She does a clumsy little twirl and says, breathless, “How do I look?”

How does she look? _Pretty_’s probably a decent enough descriptor, but then, Beth always looks pretty, and anyway, Daryl’s never been no good at putting his thoughts and feelings into words, let alone the kinds of words that a girl like Beth Greene deserves. Blush deepening, he shrugs and busies himself with checking on the dozing baby, thinking that he really wouldn’t mind it much if she chose this exact moment to wake up and pitch a wailing fit.

“Look nice,” is what he eventually comes up with, and, yeah, okay. Just call yourself Robert Frost, asshole, ’cause you’re a regular goddamn poet.

“Thanks, Daryl,” Beth says, so gently that it sets his teeth on edge. She ventures closer, skims her fingers down Judith’s back like she’s counting the bumps in her fragile little spine. “You look real nice, too.”

Daryl’s tongue collides with the backs of his teeth._ Nice_. Hmph, well. He bathed this morning, anyway—washed his hair and everything—so that’s something, he supposes. “Shut the hell up.”

Beth catches his eyes, grins. “Hey, is that any way to talk to your date?”

Daryl just about chokes on his own spit. The hell is this girl smoking? “What you mean, _date_?”

“Means what it sounded like.” Beth pokes him in the chest, and he tries not to visibly startle. “I’m the maid of honor, and _you’re_ the best man, so that makes you my date.”

Daryl’s not sure if that’s how it works, but he doesn’t know enough about weddings to dispute it. Instead, he mumbles, flustered and unthinking, “T prob’ly would’a been Glenn’s first choice, he was still here. I’m jus’ his backup.”

Beth goes real quiet, then, narrow shoulders caving in on themselves as her chin turns down, and Daryl’s just about to tell her to hustle before Maggie comes storming in here herself when she says, quietly, “I wish T-Dog was here to see this. Lori, too. They’d—they’d be so happy for Glenn an’ Maggie. Nothing’s like it used to be, but people can still get married. They can still _make_ somethin’ outta what they got. Lori and T-Dog always thought so.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, but Daryl should’ve kept his stupid fucking mouth _shut_. “Beth—”

And, oh, _motherfucker_, now she’s _sniffling_. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_. “It’s just.” Beth blinks hard, scrubs at her eyes. “T-Dog was my friend, and I miss him _so much_, but sometimes—sometimes I feel like I’m not allowed to miss Lori as much as I do. She was _Carl’s_ mom, y’know? Not mine. I don’t—”

“Bullshit,” Daryl says, because it_ is_ bullshit. It’s bull fucking shit and it pisses him the_ hell _off. “She might as well'a been your mom an’ you fuckin’ _know_ it, girl.”

’Cause, the thing is, Beth was as close to Lori as any of them, looking out for her during that winter on the run while her own goddamn husband and son pulled further and further away from her. And Lori looked out for Beth, too—was always holding her hand, brushing the snarls out of her matted hair, cuddling her close and comforting her when she cried. Lori loved Beth. She loved her so goddamn much.

And, yeah, Beth’s still got Carol and Maggie to turn to whenever she needs some maternal love, but that don’t make Lori’s loss any easier. No matter how much they’ve gained since, nothing will ever make up for what they’ve lost.

Beth’s staring at him, eyes wide and wet. “Daryl—”

Nope. He doesn’t wanna hear it. “Just—knock it the hell off, alright? Anybody tells ya y’ain’t got the right to miss her, you tell _me, _an’ I’ll beat an apology outta their sorry ass.”

Beth rolls her lips together, and Daryl can’t tell if she’s holding back a smile or more tears. She rubs Judith’s back, fingers brushing his on every pass and making his skin hum like he touched a live wire. “Thanks, Daryl.”

So, he actually said the right thing for once in his life. He doesn’t believe in miracles, but he’s tempted to call it one. “Uh-huh. C’mon, les’ go. Maggie’s gonna have a goddamn hernia, we keep her waitin’ much longer.”

Beth giggles, high and sweet like her singing voice. They head down the catwalk and descend the stairs with Judith in tow, and Daryl, usually content to enjoy the silence, can’t help but try to keep the conversation going. Anything to distract Beth from crying again.

“You decide what to sing yet?”

“Oh, Iunno.” Beth smirks. “I was gonna go with ‘White Trash Wedding,’ but I don’t think Maggie and Daddy’d appreciate that.”

Daryl snorts. Does some smirking of his own. “Bet Glenn’d laugh, though.”

“‘_You can’t afford no ring_,’” Beth trills, skipping ahead of Daryl and swinging around to grin at him. “‘_You can’t afford no ring. I shouldn’t be wearin’ white an’ you can’t afford no ring_.’” But then she shakes her head, ponytail swishing. “Nah, I think I’m just gonna sing ‘Landslide.’ Maggie always liked that song. Momma, too.”

Daryl nods. Yeah, he always liked that song, too, although he never said so out loud; always figured Merle’d call him a pussy if he did. It’s a little melancholy for a wedding, but everything’s a little melancholy these days, ain’t it? “Sounds good.”

Beth falls back into step with him as they break out of the cell block and into the sunny prison yard. Their family’s waiting for them on the other side, and Beth waves at them before turning to Daryl and saying, “And I expect to get at least one dance outta you, Mr. Dixon, so don’t you forget it.”

Oh, fuck, no. “Not on your life, girl.”

But Beth doesn’t look discouraged, not even a little bit. “I’ll win you over,” she says with all the well-earned confidence of a girl who’s got her entire family wrapped firmly around her littlest finger.

And, yeah. The thing is? She already _has_ won him over. She already goddamn has. 


End file.
